


Strings Attached

by AngelOfDeath10



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artists, F/M, Lemon, Romance, less of an age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 05:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21093791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfDeath10/pseuds/AngelOfDeath10
Summary: Sasori has a particular artistic vision and Sakura might fit into it if she's willing to throw away both pride and autonomy.  Sasori, however, doesn't know what he's up against.





	Strings Attached

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Naruto as a whole, and I don’t own Sasori or Sakura in specific.
> 
> This was written as a gift for 20,000 hits to my lemon collection (Variety Pack) when it was hosted on adultfanfiction dot net (which no longer exists, changed hosts, and lost all the fic formatting). It was written under the name Lady Dementia.
> 
> Originally written prior to 2007. Unsure of the precise date.

She had checked with at least two professors and several other of her friends in the MA program to figure out if this was a legitimate deal or not. The pay seemed almost unreasonably high for modeling work. She wouldn’t even be thinking about it if it weren’t for the fact that her textbooks alone had set her back at least twice as much as she had expected. It was grad school, what did she expect? 

Her parents couldn’t help her. She had asked enough of them already, and she didn’t want to admit to needing money until she was evicted from her crappy apartment and starving in the streets.

Yes, Sasori Akasun was a real person, a talented and accredited artist, and about as eccentrically reclusive as one could expect from a known genius. Those sorts of people were often messed up in some way. He was not some random head case offering a lot of money to lure pretty girls into his studio and kill them. At least, when she has asked the question jokingly she had gotten increasingly uncomfortable laughs about it. She assumed that that meant, “not that we know of”.

The money, although dubious, was too good to pass up. It said possible modeling with nudes, but it didn’t necessarily say nude modeling, so she hoped for the best. After all, she could always say no. In fact, that appeared to be the problem he was having because the artists she had talked to said he had not managed to find a model that he could accept or that would accept him for the better part of their knowledge. He hadn’t had a show of any kind in about four years, but his last one still came up in conversations. Sasori Akasun wasn’t the sort who had many friends in the business, but his work was something everyone remembered for some reason.

Thus, when Sakura climbed up the steps to the second story of a small building which housed Sasori’s studio, she didn’t know what to expect. Was he grotesque? Was that why no one could work with him? Was he disgusting and loud? Did he have a history of violence? Would he ask something of her that was entirely unreasonable? She bounced from foot to foot, hearing the low heels clack against the metal staircase and tried to think of something nice. After this, no matter the outcome, she would treat herself to something tasty. That would be a good pick me up after so many days of bad luck and monetary dread, even if it didn’t solve anything.

The knocks sounded too loud to her, drowning out the faint traffic noises, and she rubbed her arms to keep away imaginary cold. It wasn’t even autumn yet, technically, but in her mind she imagined it was. It took a while, but a slit opened in the door and cold eyes pierced her. They were washed out, old. She knew that Sasori was older than she was, maybe a decade, maybe more. . . but was unprepared for the mocking evaluation she went through before she even saw his face.

“You’ll do.” Was all he said before the slit smacked back into place and the door opened with not even a dramatic creak. Sakura felt like she was walking into a house of horrors, so she felt cheated somehow, like there should have been a more ominous beginning than she got.

“Sit here. I want a better look at you. Hold your arms like this and dip your head like so.” He had turned suddenly to demonstrate for her, the long white jacket he wore dusty with shavings of materials and flinging bits from it. It was with some shock that she realized that despite the mass of rusty red hair standing out from his head, he looked timeless. This man couldn’t be over thirty, she thought with some disbelief, and to make matters even more complicated she thought for sure if he were in different clothing he would make a more beautiful woman than she ever could. That thought rankled enough to bring her back to the present with a jolt.

“Don’t you even want to know who I am, or why I came here?”

Sasori had a pencil in one hand and was picking up a pad of graph paper with the other when she asked her question and he slowly turned around with a faint smile on his lips. “So many models come here that asking all their names is irrelevant. If you stay it might be important, but for now I simply don’t care. As for knowing if you were a model or not. . . well. . . few young women have any inclination to visit this place unless they are answering my ad.”

No inclination to visit? With the slow smile he gave her, she thought that he either was gay or there was something truly abominable about him because he was rather pleasing to the eye and she couldn’t imagine him ever having trouble with women. Maybe his arms got tired beating them off of him. 

“Now are you going to tilt your head, or must I do it for you?” 

Sakura tilted her head in just the way he had demanded earlier and he nodded at her, those heavily lidded eyes pleased. He sketched something, ripped it off of the page, picked up another piece of paper, and then compared the two for something. Having not been told to do otherwise, Sakura held the pose. Her neck was cramping by the time he looked at her again.

“Good. Very good. You may move now.” He waved a hand in her direction, and she saw that his fingers were long and nicely shaped, but seemed scarred in places. Maybe they were calluses, but she knew some were burn marks from their irregularly shaped smoothness, and a jagged red line showed her where skin hadn’t healed properly or well. Did he work with toxic materials? The medical student inside of her almost piped up, but she thought better of it.

Sasori was engrossed in what he was doing so Sakura took a look around. There were large sheets draped over lots of tall things. Those must be sculptures he was working on. Huh. There was a long table with many tools, more wood shavings, and a large selection of glass eyes. How odd. She wasn’t disturbed by them. She had dissected enough cadavers in biology classes that seeing glass eyes wasn’t at all disturbing. At least they didn’t smell. 

It wasn’t until she looked up that she felt a tremor of that familiar dread. Parts of bodies, or what looked to be parts of bodies, were all hanging from the ceiling in various states of completion. They were marionettes, giant marionettes, with their strings and connected body parts in positions no person would ever be able to get into. Some looked like they needed to be sanded, others were partially completed and grinning at her, eye sockets empty.

Feeling a little wild, Sakura examined the sheets more closely. They were person height, slender under the sheets, and was that an arm she saw poking out from under. . .

“If you’re quite done gawking, we need to move. Follow me, then I will tell you about my project and you will tell me if you can agree to be my model. I’d prefer not to waste any time.” The omnipresent half smile was on, and his voice was so moderate and cultured. She couldn’t tell if he was irritated at her for her nearly open mouthed shock at the tons of marionettes, or if he was pleased that she hadn’t screamed and ran for the door yet.

But this all didn’t explain why he couldn’t keep a model. At the prices he had quoted per hour, most people would swallow their horror and laugh all the way to the bank. She was so deep in thought that she almost ran into Sasori who had stopped in front of a tented off section of the room. She was only a little shorter than he was, so he must not be very tall for a man, she thought.

“This,” he made a gesture to the tent “is my most current incarnation of the main project.” He opened it up and walked into the semi-dark to flick on lights. “And this is your fellow model.”

It looked sort of like a person, and yet not. It was dressed in casual clothing, and had the build of a rather slender but well sculpted man. Duh, Sakura, of course it looked realistic but slightly off because he was sculpted by the person who was watching her intently, fiddling with a tripod on which stood a huge camera. The mouth is what made it so unreal, the parody of its flesh counterpart.

“So,” Sakura felt her mouth going dry as she took in the eyelids that seemed to have been jointed to move as well and the wig that was no doubt made of real hair. “What’s your project about, does it have a theme, an idea behind it?”

Sasori gave her a considering look. “Lovers.” He said simply. “Or even, forbidden love, lost love, unrequited love, all of it. Whatever you like to call it. The person is incidental. I wanted something feminine to compliment this particular model. His name is Hiroku.” Sasori laughed softly to himself. It didn’t sound like a cheerful noise. “Looks like a brute, doesn’t he?”

True, the face of the puppet itself was sort of harsh. The eyes bulged a little and the mouth was turned down cruelly. If she had met such a person on the street she would have avoided them. More likely she would have crossed the street as quickly as possible so she wouldn’t even have to pass them.

“There’s a catch to this, isn’t there?”

“No catch. All I ask is that you pose the way I want you to. However I want you to. I won’t touch you, I’ll simply direct you about what I want and perhaps position Hiroku accordingly. You may not refuse any of my requests about posing. This is my art and your opinions are not invited. My ideas are still, static, completed, and must not be tampered with. You’ll be paid in full at the end of a month.”

Sakura saw the danger here. She was a smart girl. Some of these poses must get embarrassing or strange and that’s why people walked out. Well, she wasn’t disturbed by the body parts hanging from ceilings, the eyes on the work table, the life sized marionette waiting to model with her, or anything else she had confronted. In fact, the only thing she was uneasy about was Sasori himself. The way he looked at her was so glassy and appraising, as if he were mentally measuring her and finding her lacking. Sakura wasn’t the type of girl to back away from a challenge. In fact, this made her more bull headed about going through with this.

“I’ll do it.”

“I think you should consider this more closely. You’re giving me free reign over you from the time you step in this studio to the time you leave. You will be one of my puppets. And as soon as you break and disobey me then you will be ejected, without pay for that day, and I won’t expect to see you ever again.” He thought she hadn’t seen how carefully balanced this deal was. It was one situation when giving up was winning. Sakura would take this leap, surrender control of herself, and earn this money. How hard could letting go be?

“Where should I be?”

He closed his eyes a moment, going still as he composed the picture in his mind. When he was thinking his smiled flattened out. Sasori was so beautiful. The man was blessed with such a face and he hid in his studio all the time? It was unfair.

“Sit next to him, hold his hand. You’ll find the fingers are all fully jointed. Lock the fingers together and rest your head on his shoulder. Cross your leg towards him. I’ll take care of his part.”

The lights were surprisingly hot when she was directly under them. Sakura was glad she had worn something cute for this, because it was fitting next to the puppet in his casual clothes. She saw how her skin seemed so pale next to the puppet’s, and was proud she didn’t shudder as she laced her fingers into his wooden ones. The shoulder was hard, since there was not even a scrap of fat or skin to cushion her head. Sasori moved things around and soon Hiroku was draped about her as if they were cuddling on a bench.

“Now close your eyes and relax.”

Sakura’s eyelids fluttered at the first flash of the camera. While her whole body was tight, she remembered a way to loosen up by purposefully tightening every muscle in her body and then letting it go. Then she thought of nice things, like warm summer days and napping with soft blankets. Anything and everything to take her mind off of being watched and snuggling with an ugly beast of a puppet. Oddly enough, it worked and she really did feel like dozing off after twenty minutes or so had passed.

The blunt removal of Hiroku’s arm from her was what joggled her out of her daze. “Are we done?”

“For today. Your trial period will begin next weekend while I prepare. I think you might actually work for this, for the whole project. So don’t disappoint me, my precious puppet.”

I have a name, she wanted to snap, but she bit her tongue. He saw her stifled flash of temper, she thought, because as he turned away he was smiling more widely than before. That jerk.

*  
*  
*

“I didn’t know what time to come.” All he had told her was the weekend and all she had from him was an address. He might not even own a phone. It was Saturday morning, 11am, and Sasori looked just like he had when she had last seen him. Long white coat with stains and dust, dark pants, mocking smile . . . he wore it all well.

“Come in. You can change behind that sheet.”

“What?”

“The clothes are there. I’ll be waiting for you where we took pictures last time. Don’t be longer than a few minutes.”

Wondering, Sakura wandered over to where a skirt and top sat. They were business looking, professional, and seemed expensive. There were white pantyhose, and black stiletto heels waiting nearby. To her great astonishment the clothes had a tailored fit to them. They said he was a genius, they said he had spent his whole life making art. . . and she supposed if he had spent his entire life making models of the human body then he must be good at judging people’s sizes. It wasn’t anything to fear.

Then again, when did fear come into this equation? These thoughts were a bad direction to go first thing in the morning.

The tent was cold, but that was a mercy since the lights would warm things up. No wonder his workshop was like a cave, dark and cold, if he spent so much time around lights and machines. Whatever he saved on heaters was probably eaten up in other electrical use. Sakura found herself thinking such useless things to distract herself from the sight of Hiroku, as ugly as ever, with a new wig on. Still black, she saw, but slicked back. He was wearing a nice suit in a green so dark it was almost black. It also looked expensive. While Sasori might be weird, he did have good taste in clothing.

“Sit here,” he indicated a desk “Lift one leg up and scoot back, as if you were trying to get away from something. Look at the dot I placed on the side of the tent. Don’t take your eyes off that dot.”

Her heel scraped against the desk as she brought one leg up. It made a screeching noise. Sasori shook his head, displeased, and made a groove in the table with a tool he took from his pocket and she set the heel into it. No more problem. They locked gazes as he withdrew, and she thought she saw something shift in his expression as he pulled away. Maybe the weirdo had looked up her skirt; all he would get a view of were some think white pantyhose. No big thrills there. The dot on the wall was far away and she had to relax her eyes to focus on it. Suddenly focusing on it became a matter of life or death because she felt Hiroku’s cold finger joints encircle one of her upper thighs.

Forbidden love indeed. Sasori was just sick. Puppets molesting people. Dressing her up in high heels and short skirts like a trollop and then having a well dressed man. . . male puppet. . . take advantage of her. Indignation ate her up but she swallowed that down as she had the last time she was here. How quickly he seemed to have found the very things that riled her up. Women were not helpless sex objects. She felt like she was being needlessly objectified.

“Good,” Sasori said, and Sakura realized he had been taking pictures for a while now. She had been too busy stewing in her own righteousness to notice. “But maybe look a little more horrified and less angry.”

She did her best. After this, she promised herself, she was never modeling again.

*  
*  
*

At the third photo session, he finally asked her about her name. Apparently she had passed whatever tests he had had in store last week, because she rated a name finally. 

“I’m Sakura Haruno.”

“And I’m Sasori Akasun. It’s a pleasure.” He bowed slightly to her, careful not to get too near. He seemed to have an aversion to touching. . . her. She suspected it carried over to all people, however, and that it wasn’t personal. Reclusive eccentrics were not known for being touchy feely when they had to interact with people.

She wanted to ask him questions, but there was a pressure in the air, a tension that always had her thinking back to the first day. If she wanted to keep her job she had to remain as spiritless as the puppets. No curiosity was allowed. No anger. She had to make herself as devoid of emotion as possible. Photo shoots were where he wanted her emotions. It must have been a startling contrast to the lifelessness of the other puppet. _Other puppet._ She was a person dammit! She refused to let his weird ideas dehumanize her. She wanted to see those pictures, but desire was another thing she had to save for the camera.

Another unexpected development, besides as now untapped reserved of patience, was the way Sasori seemed to have become even more sensitive to her reactions. As soon as her mood shifted or soured in a shoot they would take a break until she was refreshed enough to go on. Maybe he had always been sensitive and she had mistaken his observation of her as amusement. The smile was part of his way, an automatic social response. Many people did the same when they were uncomfortable. At least he didn’t laugh. That would have been more annoying. 

“Does he disgust you?” Sasori flashed a picture as Sakura turned to him in astonishment. She had been perched on Hiroku’s knee, tilting her ear to his mouth as if hearing a secret being told. It was the closest she had ever been to the puppet’s face and yes, she was a little bothered but after so much time in his presence it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. “Answer honestly.” A command from the puppet master. Sakura gritted her teeth at the thought.

“A little.”

“Ah.” Sasori seemed disappointed in her as he took another picture of her quizzical face still turned towards the cameraman and not the model. “I was right then. You’re better than the rest, but you still can’t get past the look of something. You’re as stuck on appearance as Deidara. Things of beauty are overrated. They make no real impression. If something is to last it should be grotesque. People remember negative experiences far longer than they do positive ones.”

She wasn’t sure she agreed. But she wasn’t sure she quite disagreed either. She was forming the words when she clamped down on her mouth and turned back to Hiroku. There was another click and flash.

“Deidara is a friend of mine. He’ll be here later this evening. . . if you’d like to meet him. He’s the one I had bring your clothes, you should thank him for me. I can’t be bothered. He talks too much and I have much to do.”

She stayed rather late to talk to this Deidara, well into what most people used for a reasonable dinner time, but Sasori neither ate nor invited Sakura to eat. She watched him work on a puppet’s eye socket, shaping it carefully with a carving tool and hearing his explanations about it when he wasn’t totally concentrated on it. It was almost companionable. There was a moment he looked up at her and seemed to note how honestly she was interested because something softened before he frowned and turned back to his work.

Then Deidara arrived and Sasori seemed to magically vanish. Sakura didn’t know when, but he had plenty of time since Deidara had flung the door open with a bang and flicked on more overhead lights to show himself off. He was a feminine looking man in a loose shirt and tight pants with long hair tied in a ponytail down his back. He wore more eyeliner than Sakura did, but she noted his eyelashes weren’t as full and dark as hers. She didn’t know why she felt so much competition regarding this man, but she did.

“Sasoooriiii. Where areee youuuu?” Deidara had a singsong voice which became slightly more normal and less effected when he spotted Sakura, but not by much. “Oh! It’s you! I wondered when I would get to meet you, yes indeed. It’s been just ages since I’ve been able to meet one of Sasori’s models.”

He wandered right over to her, the color of his shirt seeming to grow brighter as he neared. “Look at how cute you are, but a little mannish, I have to say. I don’t know why you’ve rated such special treatment. You’ll make me jealous, mmm, very.”

“What?” He moved too fast for her, she couldn’t keep up. “I don’t get special treatment.”

“Of course you do! He’d only let you talk to me for a reason. He hates getting all mushy and whenever he starts in on those puppets of his, yeah. . . He’s so weird. I can’t believe we grew up together.” Deidara sat down on the work stool that Sasori had vacated next to her. “Now let’s chat.”

Sakura vaguely remembered Sasori’s request earlier. “He said to thank you for the clothing.”

“Oh sigh, that man is hopeless. He knows he can have any of my creations at any time. I just tailor to his specifications. After all, he’s the one who’s done my ad campaigns for years. No one suspects that all the nice bodyshots of models are really just different marionettes. They just think I’m being mysterious. Let me tell you it makes runway shows a dream because they all hope I’ll choose them for the next ad spread.”

He was right, Deidara _did_ talk too much.

“But look at you, they almost never last more than two weeks. He might actually have to pay you a small fortune!” Deidara laughed a little. “He must be working very slowly then, yes.”

“Excuse me?” Photo shoots were always like lightening. Only an hour or two, then a break and maybe an hour more before she was sent away.

Deidara looked at her like those bitchy girls at school when they were going to impart some malicious gossip. “Why your doll, naturally. Sasori makes dolls of all his models. As soon as he finishes the doll, he says he no longer needs the model. . . they become dead to him.”

Sakura shivered. He was making a doll of her? What would she look like? Was that what he was doing even now, anticipating her removal as soon as the puppet Sakura was completed? And she had just begun to like the guy.

Deidara chatted her up a little and said if she ever thought of modeling to give him a call. Sasori only allowed the best to be involved with him so she probably made love to the camera in ways Deidara could only dream. Sakura tried not to be disturbed by the man and waved him a pretty goodbye. When Sasori didn’t reappear for a few minutes she gathered her things and left to pick up dinner. She had a lot to think about.

*  
*  
*

“What the?!” Sakura fell backwards onto her butt rather hard as she propelled herself off of Hiroku. The request today had been eerie enough: Sakura in a short skirt and halter top had to straddle Hiroku as if they were going to become intimate. He was fully clothed, with his shirt opened down to his waist, so she hadn’t been more reluctant than necessary. She had spent hours with Hiroku, and she felt pretty familiar with him even on days like today.

But she hadn’t been _that_ familiar. She had scooted up to straddle him and had felt. . . well, something rather realistic invading her intimate personal space.

“Get back on and we’ll try this again. I need to get his arms positioned.” Sasori looked down at her, one eyebrow arched.

“When did he get. . .one of those?” The question was out before she could stop herself.

Sasori didn’t seem angered by her question. Of course not. It was about one of his precious puppets and he was a fount of information. “Why, all my dolls are rather correct from the physical standpoint. And I felt it was only fair to make some, hm, optional parts for certain ones of them. Not all of them are like this. You’re very lucky to work with Hiroku.”

Sakura didn’t feel that lucky. Her mood became even blacker when one arm was placed around her waist and the other one _under her shirt_. The puppet’s huge member insisted she remember it was still there, and she tried very hard to forget it.

“It’s not right, now toss your head back. . . like the first day.”

She did it and then the cold wood was pressed against her neck. At least a puppet couldn’t give her a hickey. That was the only mercy.

“You’re doing just beautifully, Sakura.” It was the first real encouragement he had ever offered her. Despite herself, she found it make her feel good. Her face flushed and she observed the flash of the camera from a new angle. However, there was something distinctly embarrassing about this position because whenever she shifted due to the uncomfortable pose, she created friction between herself and, er, little Hiroku. The idea that she could derive pleasure from this while not wanting to was both sickening and a little exciting. Somehow this was the greatest degradation she had gone through for the sake of Sasori’s art to date.

It was when a tear inadvertently slid down her face that she felt a cold hand, actual skin, brush her shoulder.

“You can stop now.” Sasori told her. Sakura felt like she had failed somehow.

*  
*  
*

It had been a difficult decision to come back. A month of work had covered all her needs, and she was grateful, but she came back anyway because he had never said they were finished simply that if she was done then they needn’t continue. They were back to the familiar slit on the door routine when she knocked.

“What do you want?” Sasori demanded.

“Is your project completed?”

“Do you have any idea what you are asking? Things will only get worse from you from here on.”

It was too late. She knew she was emotionally entwined in this project and the idea of stopping made her feel as ill as the idea of continuing. But time spent with Sasori seemed more worthwhile than time spent obsessing over him. Sakura had that kind of personality. It was a little masochistic, but with a strong drive to win. School had been preparation for this, in a way.

“Yes, I know it will get worse. I want this.”

The slit was pushed shut and the door opened. Sasori held out his hand to her, actually allowed their skin to touch, and Sakura felt like she was on fire. Yes, she knew what she was asking when she came back. There had been hints, if you squinted and tilted your head to the side. “Take as much as you can off.”

Sasori drew out a professional makeup kit. On the table near him was a pink wig, some green glass eyes, and an unfinished head. “Is that me?” She asked. It wasn’t just his time and his rules anymore. She had come here with her own purpose. The question felt natural.

“It’s the third one I’ve worked on. The body wasn’t difficult, but I couldn’t get the head just right. I still don’t understand it.”

“That’s ok.” Sakura pulled off her jacket, then her blouse and skirt and stood there in a slip and her bra while Sasori mixed the makeup to the consistency he wanted it. “I think Deidara could tell you why, if you’re confused.”

Sasori dipped a brush in it and grabbed her arm, it tickled as he drew the paint along her joint. “I would rather bite off my tongue than talk to Deidara about this. We’ve been on poor terms ever since I was sixteen and we talked about how we viewed art. He sees it as something living. . . breathing. . .”

“And you?” 

“I’m starting to change my mind, I think.” The brush tickled its way across her face. Once the main lines were there he set to shading. He did her waist and legs last, almost carelessly at first, impatient, but then slowing down for the sake of his art.

She followed him into the tent, as always, clad this time only in her peach colored slip and matching bra. Always with the matching underwear. Yet another way in which she could be considered so orderly, maybe too sane, and yet this made no sense. When she was here, in Sasori’s studio, logic was turned on its head. Inside the tent she felt an absence and realize there was no Hiroku. A part of her was a little saddened by this. “Where is he?”

“Deidara told you about how I make a puppet when each one of my models. . . hm. . . die.” Sakura nodded, watching as Sasori fiddled with settings on the camera. “Hiroku is my best creation, the one I feel captures. . . me. I died long ago by my reckoning so it seemed only fitting.”

What a drama queen, Sakura couldn’t help bit pipe up in her head. But the Sasori wasn’t being ostentatious about this decision, more matter of fact. Only his shaking hands as he adjusted the camera gave away his nervousness. 

“I could have pushed you, I could have scared you away.” Sasori looked at her, resembling the puppet he couldn’t finish, and shuddered with some intense feeling. “I wonder now why I didn’t.”

Sakura sat down on the couch which had been draped in a blue sheet. She didn’t bother to take the sheet off; she liked it better this way. Sasori stopped what he was doing and snapped a few pictures of her just the way she was. Sakura wondered if she could get even one picture from the shoots, and which one she would ask for. If there had been a mirror, she would have liked to see the makeup job Sasori had done on her. It was probably amazing. Sakura the living doll.

“Shouldn’t you get Hiroku before you take pictures? Isn’t the theme ‘lovers’?”

Sasori set the camera on the tripod and pressed a few more buttons. “So it is,” He answered absently before he stalked over to join her on the couch. Sasori put a hand atop hers and brought it up to his lips. Sakura was shocked into a vacant stare and wondered if she would look like a person or a doll in the pictures when the flash alerted her to the camera being on automatic.

“You understand, don’t you. Watching you with Hiroku was like watching you with myself. . .”

“I’m starting to get that impression,” Sakura feebly said as his hand slid up her thigh.

Sasori was climbing onto her, examining her with those long fingered hands the way he had done with his eyes many time previous. “Sometimes I didn’t think I’d even make it to the end of the shoot. I needed you out of the studio before I did something rash, like this.” Somehow his hands had continued up only to release her bra from behind. He cupped one breast and slightly squeezed it.

“Sasori. . .”

“I was sickened with myself. It had been years since flesh was half so appealing to me as wood or resin sculptures. . . I felt dirty. You made me feel dirty.” His lips were so close to her ear, the camera was still flashing, and Sakura felt like she was going to combust. “I wanted to make _you_ feel dirty.”

“I know. . . . those scenes. . .” Sakura watched his hands on her body, feeling tense and oddly limp at the same time.

“You refused to give in. Oh you did everything I told you to. You were a perfect little figure for me to pose, and you held them as long as I asked you, but I could never make you feel. . .” Sakura’s arms lifted as he took her bra off, and his face closed in on hers. The camera flash was obscured by his hair.

With her hands gripping the arm rest from behind, Sakura felt so exposed to him suddenly. It wasn’t just the press of his erection on her inner thigh through his pants or his slowly warming hand exploring the soft flesh of her breast but the way those old eyes of his tried to strip everything back and see what that thing was inside her that he couldn’t incarnate into a doll. Their lips met and Sakura refused to close her eyes as she had done in the past, making the experience so real she was a little afraid of it.

“This is impossible.” Sasori said. “I’m not allowed to feel these things.”

“Says who?” Sakura responded with a smile. Her arms came down and her fingers traced his ribs. He was so skinny, but the muscle was there, tensed. It had been a while since the last flash. “You’re out of film.”

“I don’t need a picture to remember this.” Sasori said simply and kissed her again, teasing entrance into her mouth with his tongue. She gave an involuntary gasp as he pinched her nipple a little, and suddenly his tongue was stroking hers. That didn’t last long because in a sudden fit of urgency he lifted himself back onto his knees and began to tear at his clothes. 

The dirty white jacket was first, followed by a button up black dress shirt, bare skin was all that was left so he began to work on the belt to his pants next, but Sakura made him pause as her hands smoothed over his chest. She smiled to herself as she circled one mint green glossed nail around the black kanji inked over his heart.

“What’s this? ‘Scorpian’? I didn’t see you as the type.”

Sasori almost looked nonplussed for a moment, then groaned when she leaned forward to kiss his tattoo and run her fingers down his sides.

“Let me put it this way,” he said slightly out of breath as she loosened his belt for him. “Don’t get drunk around Deidara. He seems to think tattoos are another way to express ‘living art’.”

The noise of the zipper teeth parting seemed loud in the still room. But Sasori’s strangled curse as Sakura drew him out of his pants barely registered in her mind. If memory served, she wouldn’t be surprised if the dimensions of ‘little Hiroku’ matched rather favorably to what she now beheld.

“Déjà vu?” Sasori asked with a strained laugh.

“Not yet.” She said, and brought him down so that they were skin to skin and she could reach those pretty lips of his. Really, he was impossibly beautiful, and it was a powerful feeling to know she had brought him low. She ground herself against him and demanded his involvement with a ferocity of her own.

Sasori seemed to be simultaneously trying to pull off her panties and slip and press himself as closely to her as possible, thus creating his own little conflict of interest. Their kisses were getting sloppy and he was nearly growling with impatience. When he pulled away to finally remove the offending garments on her body she saw the black smear across his mouth and in other places as well, such as at his waist.

Oh yes, all the lines he had drawn on her. The oil base paint was no match for their sweat and a little friction. They probably looked like a total mess, but rational thought ceased when he pressed two fingers inside of her rather quickly. Sakura hissed an indrawn breath, unprepared for the invasion. Hasty and forceful, she supposed she should have expected it. Lubricated by her own fluids, those two fingers withdraw and slid across her clitoris expertly while he pressed himself into her a little more with each pass.

Once Sasori was buried inside of her he finally closed his eyes, just a moment, and lifted his face to the ceiling as if he were basking in the artificial lights. Then at once his face snapped forward and his eyes locked with Sakura’s. There was more kissing and they rocked together a little as they spent time exploring the shape of one another’s neck and shoulders. Eventually Sakura found she was simply holding on to his shoulders for dear life when the steady rocking somehow evolved into something harder and faster.

She was reaching towards her peak, seeking a release that promised to be a hell of a lot better than any of its predecessors when Sasori grabbed her by the chin and forced her to face him. 

It was on that expensive couch draped in a cheap blue sheet that Sakura bit her lip until she bled to keep from screaming out her orgasm, only to have her wound devoured by Sasori as he surged into her and kissed her as he came to his own completion. They panted, Sasori limp and heavy atop her, and Sakura guiltily withdrew her hands from his back. She was pretty sure she had left marks on that pale skin of his.

Sasori planted a soft kiss on her shoulder and withdrew from her entirely. “There’s a shower down the hall. Join me as you like, but I sorely need one this very moment.”

Maybe in a while. Sakura found her mind was having trouble catching up to what her body had just accomplished. “Mmm.” It was a noncommittal noise, but Sasori nodded and slipped on only his white work coat before he padded over to the tent’s exit.

“Sakura. . . my favorite puppet by far.”

The coolly thrilled note in his voice scared her a little. She waited a minute or two after he left before her damp skin made her shiver. She thought about picking up her clothing to put it back on, then shook her head to herself and simply wandered out of the tent naked to go find this shower.

In a low voice she sang to herself as she wandered. “ ‘I got no strings, to hold me down. . .’ ”


End file.
